


Permanent

by chandy



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Brothers, Cancer, Death, Disease, Illnesses, MCR, Sickness, cancerfic, dying, gerard - Freeform, terminal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 03:17:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20557334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chandy/pseuds/chandy
Summary: When Gerard is suddenly faced with a life-threatening illness, Mikey vows to be there by his side through it all. With all the uncertainties of Gerard's illness surrounding them, Mikey wants to be the one thing his brother can count on.





	Permanent

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first MCR fic. I'm thinking of turning it into a full length fic if anyone's interested. I swore I would never write a fic with real people. I mean no disrespect and certainly do not wish this situation on Gerard, Mikey, or any of the rest of the band. This is merely a catharsis for me as I struggle with my own cancer diagnosis. It's a sort of therapy, I guess. Some of the situations and feelings I have experienced, others are not as autobiographical, but are fears of what could be. I hope you like it, or it at least moves you in some way.

My brother will always be the strongest, bravest person I have ever known. Even before the gravity of his circumstances became apparent, he navigated the incredible apexes and nadirs of his life with a grace and dignity that seemed inhuman.  
Gerard struggled with Elena’s death. His addictions. His depression. But, although pushed to the brink, he never quite let himself fall off the edge. He kept reminding himself – us – that everything was temporary, and he would be himself again with time. And he was. He knew better than any of us the fleeting fragility of life. It was almost as if a seed of premonition was buried deep within.  
It was an unknown, insidious thief at first, stealing my brother’s energy, his vitality. Then the respiratory illnesses started. It was the height of the band’s success. No one was overly concerned at first as we were all worn down from the continuous touring and hectic schedule. But when a cold lasted weeks and turned into an unrelenting cough that left him gasping for breath and dry heaving at the end of the night, the near apathy gave way to a vague worry.  
The fans all thought Frank was the sickly one, but no one knew what we knew – Gerard just hid it better. He pranced around the stage and threw himself into the vocal performance until the sweat soaked through the layers and his voice was raw. He got in the habit of keeping honey and Red Bull on the stage to coat his throat, irritated from the incessant coughing, and keep his energy up. His theatrics enthralled the audience, but we could see the evident exhaustion in his body language and hear how winded he was in between songs when he dropped the mic from his mouth and the stage lights dimmed. The three of us insisted he rest and take breaks, imploring him to follow up with the doctor with each infection. It appeared he was listening to our advice to some extent, as Gerard always seemed to be on an antibiotic or treatment of some sort.  
Gerard brushed aside any other comments or suggestions on his health, assuring us he would soon be fine and not to worry. It would’ve been easier to believe him had it not been for the constant fevers painting his cheeks a bright pink or the breathlessness with which he uttered his denials. But unbeknownst to us, he suspected something wasn’t quite right all along and saw specialist after specialist to try to get some relief. In the beginning nothing came of it, and he admitted to me later that he was wondering if it was all in his head after all, as some doctors had subtly suggested. Ignorant bastards. Gerard wasn’t seeking attention. He wasn’t crazy. He was unwell. One didn’t have to have a medical degree to see that.  
Finally, a practitioner back home took note of my brother’s complaints. Bolstered by some slightly abnormal - but not alarmingly so - lab values, he was sent to yet another specialist. Gerard told no one except me. And he told me very little, discouraged by the lack of answers thus far, assuming this time would be no different.  
When I questioned him about the folded-up gauze taped to the crook of his elbow, he muttered something non-specific about blood tests and once again told me not to worry. In fact, his exact words were, “They said it’s nothing serious, Mikey. So, don’t worry, okay? I’m fine.”  
Latching onto his words, I allowed myself to be coaxed into a state of denial. After all, all the other times revealed nothing. So, why would this time be any different? The conversation disappeared from my mind as I boarded a plane to honor a commitment I had previously made to play bass on a friend’s demo. It’d take a week, give or take.  
While I was plucking steel strings, messing around in the studio with my friends, my big brother was in a cold, sterile office listening to a doctor read him his fate as he handed him a paper with his diagnosis underlined. He sat in shock as treatment plans and next steps and more appointments were thrown at him with little explanation given to the disease itself or the medication side effects. Instead, he went home to an empty house and spent the evening wading through the onslaught of information – both bad and good – that the internet provided. To think that he bore that burden alone crushes me with guilt to this day. I swore then and there that he would never go through another second of this solo. I would be with him every step of the way.  
I made sure he knew as much right after he told me about the shocking news of his cancer diagnosis. He nodded in acknowledgement and turned the corners of his lips up slightly. His hazel eyes darkened with sadness, but not for himself. For me. His thin fingers grasped mine. “I swear I wasn’t lying to you last time, Mikes. I swear they told me that there was no possible way I could have cancer. In fact, they flat out said exactly that. I was completely blindsided.”  
There was no doubt in my mind he was telling the truth. Gerard may have been a lot of things, but a liar wasn’t one of them. Desperate to cling onto him however I physically could, my hand moved to rub his forearm, the only part of his body I could readily reach while his one hand lay in mine. “It’s okay, Gerard. Don’t apologize to me! Not for this. You couldn’t have known. I’m just so sorry I wasn’t there with you like I should’ve been.”  
My eyes squeezed shut, trying to prevent the tears from falling as I continued to beat myself up internally for not realizing how ill my brother really was sooner. Gerard scooted closer to me on the couch until our knees were touching and threw his arm around my shoulders. “Hey. Hey, look at me. Don’t cry. It’s going to be okay. It’s very treatable and it’s got a really good prognosis,” he soothed as he rubbed my back. He continued to explain his illness and treatments, recounting everything he had researched and what the doctor had said. Oh, the irony. He was the one with cancer and here he was reassuring me that everything was going to be okay.  
He comforted me, as he did Ray and Frank when he told them. Our parents. Our friends. He always said the same thing after his explanations. “I’ll have the treatments and then I’ll be fine. It’s just a temporary bump in the road. I’ll be okay.”

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We were all at his bedside before he went into surgery to have a port placed in his chest for chemotherapy. It looked ridiculous, all of us crowded into a small cubicle around his gurney. How he was able to make light of the situation and not feel completely claustrophobic, I’ll never know.  
Ray, Frank, my parents, and I must’ve had varying degrees of grim expressions on our faces at one point, despite his joking. Gerard seemed mildly offended at this. “This isn’t a big deal, really. It’s only minor surgery.”  
“Only,” Frank scoffed under his breath.  
On the surface, Gerard didn’t seem to understand – or care – about the seriousness of all of this. But maybe, just maybe, that was the whole point of the ruse. He knew all too well and was only trying to make a difficult situation easier on all of us. His obliviousness was merely a façade. This was happening to him, after all.  
He narrowed his eyes at Frank, but then relaxed into a neutral expression. His hand reached out to squeeze Frank’s. When he let go, he reached out for me, seeing I was visibly upset. Approaching the bed, I clasped his hand as he pulled me down to sit next to him.  
An IV was attached to one arm, and a blood pressure cuff and a pulse oximeter clip decorated the other, but despite the encumberments, he encircled me in a brotherly hug. My chin dug into his hospital-gowned shoulder as I spoke, “It’s not just the surgery, Gee. It’s everything that comes after.”  
“And this will make it easier on me in the long run. You know how I hate needles,” a weak laugh escaped almost as a sigh.  
I nodded as I pulled back, careful of the equipment. Tucking an errant black lock beneath his surgical cap, I conceded. “I know, Gee. I know.”  
The curtain was ripped back suddenly by the medical personnel designated to escort my brother to the operating room. We all wished him luck as the gurney was unlocked. “Besides,” he called out as he was being wheeled away, “it won’t be in there forever. It’ll come out eventually.”  
Unfortunately, he was wrong about that. He never even had the chance to have it removed. And every time I caught sight of it, my heart broke a little bit more for all the hurt and pain my dear, sweet older brother had to endure before it all just stopped for him.

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Seeing Gerard tethered to that bag of poison for the first time was almost more than my heart could bear. The nurse had him recline in the chair before she accessed his port, afraid he may pass out due to his phobia.  
I gripped his hand tightly and squeezed as the needle pierced his skin, hoping to provide a distraction for him. The nurse taped the tubing down and then connected him to the IV pole. She turned a dial that started the chemo flowing into his veins. Entranced by the drip, he studied it silently for a few moments. But then he did what I least expected from him. He smiled – fucking smiled – at me. “I’m fucking nuclear now, Mikey. Think I’ll get superpowers? Like Spiderman or something?”  
Superman, Gerard. You’ve always been Superman to me. But look at my Superman now – so small, so pale, so sick…so human. That thought hit me like a bullet. I harshly cleared my throat to force down the lump forming there. “Just try to get some rest, okay? I’m going to use the restroom,” I quickly excused myself.  
The tears threatened to spill over, and I just managed to keep them in check long enough to take a glance back over my shoulder. The smile my brother wore for my sake was replaced by creases in his forehead as he frowned up at the IV pump. He shifted in his chair, letting his eyes fall shut, resigned to his fate.  
My resolve finally cracked. Flinging the bathroom door open, I barely entered before the wetness landed on my cheeks. I had promised Gerard I wouldn’t cry. But how in the hell was I supposed to manage that when my best friend’s life was at stake? He had already been through so much and it was just beginning.  
Minutes later, my face freshly scrubbed of the evidence, I sat down on the stool next to him and just watched him for a bit. Small tremors coursed through his body. “Cold?”  
A minute tip of the head was all I received so I grabbed a blanket from the cart and spread it over him. Hazel slits emerged and pinned me to my seat. So much appreciation and love and determination and reassurance resided there that the ache in my chest threatened to tear me in two. “I’m going to get through this. It’ll all be over soon.”  
Damn you, Gerard. Damn you and your optimism. It only made the fall so much harder.

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It was becoming a habit to swing by my brother’s place at least once a day to make sure he was eating enough and doing okay in general. Gerard bore this begrudgingly. It wasn’t that he wasn’t appreciative. He just resented it on some level that, among other things, he wasn’t able to maintain his fiercely independent lifestyle. There was also the guilt that he, however unfounded, harbored:  
“You really don’t have to do this, Mikes. It’s too much on you. I don’t want to be a burden.”  
I clapped my hand on his shoulder harder than I meant to. The wince was brief, but not unnoticed. The port had only been implanted a few weeks, and it was sore still. “I’m so sorry.” He waved me off. “And you’re not a burden. Never have been. Never will be. Besides,” I added, “you’ve been taking care of me my whole life. Let me pay you back for once.”  
This conversation replayed in my mind as I used my spare key to enter his front door. The living room was empty, but the sounds of running water from the bathroom could faintly be heard from upstairs. Not so unusual, since his third round of chemo was only two days ago, and he had been getting progressively sicker with each one.  
Taking the steps two at a time, I quickly reached the landing and padded through the bedroom door on my left. The en suite bathroom door was ajar. The water had stopped, but there was an odd sort of scuffling noise coming from within.  
I knocked softly. “Gerard, what are you doing in there?”  
“What the hell do you think? Building a snowman?” There’s the sarcastic, snarky boy I grew up with. That spark inside was one of the many things I loved about my brother.  
“Nooooo.” Privacy be damned – I pushed the door open.  
Gerard had one hand perched on the sink, the other combing through his raven locks while scowling at his reflection. Black strands rained down onto the white granite, while bigger clumps remained between his artistic fingers. He sighed heavily, not even mildly surprised to see my figure in the mirror behind him.  
Any words that danced through my mind felt woefully inadequate, so I stepped forward and hugged him from behind. Gerard may have been better at sensing others’ emotions, but even I could figure out what this meant. Vanity was never one of his faults, but there would be no more pretending that everything was okay, hiding behind cheerful words and a smile. Now there would be a constant outward reminder that he couldn’t escape from of how ill he really was.  
“Do you,” I started hesitantly. “Do you want me to shave the rest of it off?”  
He extricated himself from my grip and folded his body onto the lid of the toilet. “I, um – I don’t - maybe. I’m not sure?”  
I sat on the adjacent lip of the tub, alternating between rubbing his shoulder and his back in a gesture of comfort. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”  
“I know.” He brightened his expression, but the light didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And it’s only temporary, right? I’ve heard that sometimes when it grows back, it comes in different. You know how I love changing my hairstyles.”  
“Sure, big brother. And in the meantime, I could take you shopping? Get a hat or scarf? A wig? All three? We could go now if you want.”  
“Sure, but not today. Okay?” His words were tentative, as if he was afraid I would be mad at him or disappointed somehow.  
I took a good look at him. Shadows ringed his eyes and his complexion was a shade lighter than it normally was. “You’re tired, aren’t you?” It was a rhetorical question as it was quite apparent in his demeanor. He shifted his eyes downward as if ashamed that I picked up on what he was trying to hide. “C’mon. Let’s get you into bed.”  
“Mikey, it’s the middle of the afternoon. I don’t want to go to bed. I won’t sleep tonight.”  
“Okay, but you still need some rest. How about the couch? Maybe watch a movie?”  
It was weird taking the protective, parental role. Usually, the roles were reversed. When he reluctantly nodded his head, I reached out for his arm to help him up. He brushed me away again and again despite his stumbling gait, until he nearly fell down the stairs. The banister stopped his downward momentum quicker than I could. After that near miss, I tightened my grip on his bicep and slid my other arm around his back, leading him to the couch.  
“Lie down,” I commanded him as I fluffed a pillow behind his head. Sighing, I sat down on the edge of the couch. “You’re not just tired, are you? What else is bothering you?” He opened his mouth in denial, but I put a stop to it. “And, I swear to God, if you say ‘nothing’…”  
Gerard looked pissed at first that I caught him suppressing another aspect of his illness. His eyes flicked back and forth under his long lashes, contemplating what he was going to tell me. “Gee, you made me promise you something. Now it’s you turn. I need to know what’s going on with you. No secrets, okay?”  
Finally, he exhaled heavily, relenting and silently acknowledging his agreement. “My legs... They’ve really been bothering me lately,” he whispered softly.  
“How so?”  
“Hurts really bad,” he muttered, barely audible.  
Instead of chastising him further for hiding pieces of his illness from me, I got up and returned with a glass of water and some ibuprofen. I handed them to him, and he took them without argument. “Lift your legs.”  
“What? Why?”  
“Just do it!”  
Gerard raised his thick, perfectly shaped black eyebrows at me perplexed, but complied. I slid underneath him and gently laid his pajama-clad limbs on my lap and began kneading them. “What are you doing?”  
“Making you feel better, dufus. Now shut up and let’s watch a movie.”  
It finally happened – Gerard was speechless. His bemused expression slowly relaxed, and twenty minutes later he was softly snoring. I had effectively trapped myself beneath his legs, but that didn’t concern me. I was just grateful to have alleviated some of my brother’s discomfort, no matter how brief the relief might be.

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After finding Gerard nearly unconscious on his bathroom floor the day after a chemo session, I made a decision right then and there to temporarily move in with him. It had scared me very badly.  
“Gerard,” I gasped, hurrying over and kneeling on the hard marble beside his prone form. I reached my hand out to stroke his rapidly thinning hair and his eyes popped open at my touch, just noticing he wasn’t alone for the first time. Hooking my arms underneath his, I began to pull up.  
“Nononono. Don’t move me. Please…no,” he pleaded brokenly.  
“Let’s get you off the floor. C’mon. Are you hurt,” the words came tumbling out as I ignored his pleas, tugging harder. Spasms wracked his body as he pushed up weakly with his arms. It was then I finally realized what was happening and rushed to support him as he shot towards the toilet as best he could in his state.  
There was nothing but bile left to expel at this point. He continued heaving as I gently stroked his back with one hand and brushed back the few sweaty strands of hair he had left on his head with the other. The beanie he had been wearing of late lay damp and discarded in the corner.  
His head flopped onto his arm that was draped across the toilet seat, unable to remain upright any longer. I kept one hand on his back to steady him as I wet a washcloth and wiped his face and then pressed it to his forehead. “How long have you been like this, Gee?” I kept my voice quiet and calm despite the fear coursing through my veins.  
“Most – most of the – the night,” he panted.  
Alarmed further, I struggled to keep my voice even. “Why didn’t you call?”  
He drew a deep breath in through his nose before hanging his head over the toilet again. Oh. He simply couldn’t. I’ve been so stupid – naïve – to have taken Gerard at his word that he was okay every time I’ve left for home. God knows what he’s been going through by himself after the door closed behind me. What he was trying to shield me from.  
“I’m so sorry, Gee,” I whispered into his ear, placing a kiss on his nearly bald head. “Have you been able to take anything for the nausea?”  
An almost imperceptible shake of the head was all the answer I received. It was all he could manage. Studying my brother for a moment, I deemed it safe enough to leave him for a quick trip to the kitchen. I grabbed a bottle of water and shoved a straw through the open top. Reentering the bathroom, I began rummaging around the medicine cabinet searching for the correct vial.  
I showed him the bottle questioningly. He raised him thumb in response. Taking that as an affirmation, I shook out a round, yellow tablet and put it up to his mouth. He parted his dry, chapped lips as I placed it gingerly on his tongue. I held onto the water bottle as he sipped slowly.  
When he was done, I scooped him up bridal style. He moaned and protested weakly as I carried him to bed. “I’ll get a bucket if you need it, but I’m not going to let you stay on the floor.”  
Gently, I laid him on the bed in what I hoped was a comfortable position. Shivers engulfed him as I pulled the covers up over his poor, exhausted body. His eyes slipped shut almost involuntarily. Again, fighting more tears that I promised I wouldn’t shed, I willed my voice to remain steady. “I’ve got you, Gee. Just rest. I’m going to be here from now on so I can take care of you like you deserve.”  
I stayed that night – and every night thereafter. I still haven’t left. I can’t bear to.

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Remission was an elusive concept in the beginning. Even though it was the goal, no one dared to speak of it or get their hopes up. But finally, the doctors uttered that sacred word.  
Unbeknownst to us, my brother had amassed quite the pile of lyrics that he had apparently written from his sickbed. Ray’s phone was constantly ringing off the hook by an impatient Gerard wanting to give a melody to his songs. We all implored Gerard to give his body time to recover from such a horrible ordeal before going back into the studio, but he was insistent. He was eager to get back to some semblance of normality.  
It wasn’t that we didn’t understand his motivation, but we feared for his health and the consequences of too much stress. Finally, we caved because Gerard is, if nothing else, a persistent motherfucker. The smile of relief on his face when he realized that the cancer had not robbed him of his instrument, that his voice was as strong as ever, was worth all the worry.  
But Gerard wasn’t content to stop there. He talked us into playing some shows. Ray, Frank, and I argued vehemently against going on the road, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He was still painfully thin, but the color had returned to his cheeks and the amount he was able to eat and hold down grew a little each day. Even his hair had grown in enough to dye it a vibrant red, much to Gerard’s delight. I had to admit, it suited him.  
Strutting around the stage and having a creative outlet again seemed to only aid in my brother’s recovery. It was amazing to see, really. We still kept a wary eye on him and shuttled him to the doctor for checkups. And the news so far had been good.  
The only difficult thing became hearing him sing “Cancer” at every show. When we strongly suggested we leave this out of the rotation, he firmly shot us down and left no room for argument. He needed to do this, he said. Singing it had been a sort of catharsis for him, I suppose. The emotion that he put into that song night after night was enough to break me -and the others – down. He wasn’t merely taking on a role. Life had imitated art, and he had become “The Patient”, a three-dimensional embodiment of his lyrics. Gerard, to his credit, understood this and had taken to going on stage with only the keyboard as his backup, allowing the rest of us to hide in the shadows.  
Everything was going well. Or so we thought. At first, it was just a cold. Then it turned into repeated infections. The weight he had gained began to vanish and his fatigue grew. We got him home and checked out by his oncologist. Our greatest fear had been realized. Remission had only been temporary. The cancer had returned - with a vengeance.

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The chemotherapy really wasn’t working very well anymore. The doctors had adjusted the dosages and tried different combinations of various drugs, but all it really accomplished was making Gerard sicker.  
He was so ill, so weak. It seemed like all he did was sleep and vomit. There began talk of a feeding tube because he had such problems eating and keeping down food. Gerard vehemently opposed this idea, but I wasn’t so sure. He was just a pile of skin and bones at this point, and anything that helped him get better I was all for. Seeing the desperation on my face, he capitulated, making us promise him that it was only temporary. It never did come out.  
Worse than his sickness and fatigue was the pain he was in every day. Between the treatment, his cancer, and his physical frailty he was absolutely miserable. I gave him the maximum dose of pain pills, but they didn’t seem to alleviate his pain to any degree. The doctors finally allowed me to inject him with small amounts of morphine to supplement the pills, but that only marginally helped.  
The excruciating pain forced even more limitations upon him as his every movement drove shards of glass through his aching bones. Gerard detested this and expressed his frustrations at his ailing body. My brother now needed help to do the simplest of tasks. Even walking the few short feet to the bathroom required my assistance. I continued to support and steady him as he took his slow, halting steps, but it was getting to the point where he was largely bedridden.  
Gerard, understandably, had trouble accepting this fact and had fallen trying to get himself to the bathroom in the middle of the night without disturbing me. I found him in a heap on the floor, mostly unhurt, except for his pride as he hadn’t made it in time. His tearful apologies were more than I could stand.  
To save him any further embarrassment I started leaving both bedroom doors ajar at night so I could hear the smallest movement from across the hall and anticipate his every need. Even though I had become a light sleeper, I made sure his phone was in easy reach of the bed and my phone was on me at all times so he could call me the very moment anything was amiss.  
My foresight was warranted. One night not long after that incident, I was immediately awoken from my fitful slumber by a muted thud. My ears honed in on the faint whimpering as I fumbled my way across the hall in the dark, pushing the door wide open in my haste, nearly tripping on the fallen phone.  
The dim lamp in the corner cast an eerie glow over the bed. It softly illuminated the panting, sweat-soaked figure of my brother. His brow was deeply furrowed, and his pursed lips pushed air out in bursts. “What is it? What’s wrong, Gee?”  
“Hurts,” he choked out, hands fisting in the sheets.  
“Where?”  
“Everywhere,” he cried out, his voice cracking on the last syllable.  
“Shit!” I quickly calculated in my head that it had only been two hours since his last pills and less than an hour from the last morphine. Too soon for me to give him more. Frantically grabbing the phone, I dialed the emergency number for the doctor’s office. I relayed the information to the answering service and quickly received a call back telling me to give him another dose of morphine, and if that didn’t work in an hour, to take him to the hospital.  
Fumbling with the vial, I worked as quickly as I could while attempting to reassure my distressed brother. I slid the needle home. Unsure of what to do after injecting the medicine, I held his bony hand. Sweat dripped down his face, but he was so cold. I used my free hand to lightly stroke his skull, my fingers searching for hair that was no longer there. I whispered platitudes in his ear, praying for relief that never came.  
Errant tears leaked out from underneath his lashes. Fuck this! Gerard was in absolute agony. He couldn’t wait the full hour. I came to the conclusion that we were going to the hospital now. But I knew I couldn’t do it on my own, so I made a move to grab my phone and call Ray, the geographically closest. “Don’t leave me, Mikey. Please don’t leave me.”  
I nearly lost it as I had never heard my brother’s voice so broken with fear. “I’m right here, Gee. I’m not going anywhere. I’m just calling Ray to help us. Shhh…,” I calmed as I rushed back over to his side. My heart squeezed painfully in my chest until I was certain it would explode as I dialed. Ray picked up on the second ring, not needing a complete explanation when he heard the panic in my voice. I only had to say the word ‘hospital’ and he was on his way.  
Gerard’s desperate pleas turned into moans of despair. All I could do was stand there and watch helplessly as he writhed in agony, desperate to find a position that didn’t hurt him. Attempting to give some sort of comfort, as meager as it was, I rubbed my hand up and down his arm soothingly.  
It seemed like an eternity until Ray arrived, but in reality, it was mere minutes. Ray heard the wails and came running up the stairs, entering without knocking as I had instructed. Worry danced briefly across his face as he got a good look at Gerard. “Alright, Mikey. Here’s my keys. My car’s downstairs. Get in the backseat and I’ll hand Gerard to you,” he took charge.  
Ray never questioned why I hadn’t just called an ambulance; he just hooked his one arm under Gerard’s knees and the other around his shoulders and lifted as gingerly as possible. Gerard involuntarily screamed out. “I’m so sorry, Gerard. I’m so sorry. I’ve gotcha. We’re going to get you some help now. Here we go.” Ray spoke in hushed tones as he walked slowly down the steps, trying to avoid jarring my brother any further.  
I received Gerard into the backseat, maneuvering him delicately. He lay limp in my arms as I cradled him gently. Ray rushed back into the house. I was confused until he came back out and spread a blanket over my brother and handed me my wallet and a cool cloth.  
Ray got in the driver’s seat as I pressed the cool cloth to Gerard’s forehead with one hand and rubbed circles on his chest with the other. Gerard’s chest heaved under my hand with great effort, full on sobbing now. “I can’t take it anymore. Please, Mikey…Make it stop. Please,” he begged.  
Hearing him cry out to me for help drove knives through my already tattered heart. I met Ray’s eyes in the rearview mirror, my sense of urgency taken to new heights. He read my unspoken message loud and clear as the car shot off into the night. I kissed my brother’s bald head, feeling the clammy skin beneath my lips, doing whatever I could to calm him on the car ride while I murmured words of encouragement in his ear. “We’re going to get you help right now, big brother. We’re going to get you through this. The pain is only temporary. Remember that,” I sniffled. “The doctors and nurses will make it go away soon. We’re almost there. Just breathe. Just hold on a little longer.”  
Gerard was whisked away and seen immediately upon arriving at the hospital when they saw the state he was in. There was no question he would be admitted until his pain was under control. It was hours before we were able to see him.  
Now that he was stable, more tests were being run on him, trying to find the exact source of his pain. Ray waited with me the whole time, disconcerted by the whole ordeal. It was mid-afternoon before the doctors came to talk to us – both the staff hospital doctor and my brother’s oncologist. This wasn’t going to be good news by the looks of it.  
“Mikey, we need to talk. We’ve already spoken to Gerard, and he wanted us to explain things to you.”  
“Okay.”  
“All the tests have come back conclusive that Gerard has stopped responding to chemo – at all. It isn’t benefitting him anymore. If he wishes to continue treatment of some kind there are clinical trials we can look into. But if he wishes to stop treatment now based on this information…it might be a good idea to get hospice involved so his pain and care can be managed adequately through the end. His comfort would be the goal. He’s terminal, Mikey. I’m so sorry.”  
Time slowed down. I collapsed into the nearest chair, my breath leaving my body. Deep down I knew what they were going to say, but I still wasn’t prepared. Only one thought occupied my brain. “So, he knows?”  
Both doctors nodded simultaneously. “We don’t need a decision today but talk it over and let us know if you have any questions. We want to have things set up for him by discharge.”  
I was dumbfounded, struck paralyzed, and could barely acknowledge their words. Ray sat next to me and slung an arm across my shoulders, silently offering his support. After a few moments, he spoke. “Are you ready to go see him, or do you need a minute?”  
Rising from the chair, I exited the conference room “I’m sure,” I answered Ray’s unspoken question. He looked as devastated as I felt, but I needed to be with my brother now. We made our way down the long, sterile hallway until we reached Gerard’s room. I tentatively pushed the door open, half-hoping that he would be asleep. His eyes tracked us inside.  
Ray spoke first, breaking the awkward silence. “Hey buddy. I just wanted to stop in and see how you were feeling.”  
“Much better, thank you, Ray. Really. Thank you for all you did.” Gerard’s face remained neutral, making it difficult the read his emotions.  
“Anytime, Gee. Listen, I’m going to go get some sleep and give you two time to talk. Don’t hesitate to call me if either of you need anything.” Ray hugged him tightly and then gave a wave as he slipped back out the door.  
“Thank you again, Ray,” I called after him. I turned my attention back to Gerard, propped up with a mountain of pillows. “How’s your pain?”  
Gerard looked down sheepishly. “Much better, thanks. Mikes…”  
“Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad they got it under control.”  
Gerard averted his eyes, looking like he wanted to speak, but was unsure what to say.  
“Are you okay?” I knew it was a stupid question, but a loaded one that needed to be asked, nonetheless.  
Gerard took several long, deep breaths. “I guess I’m really not okay, am I? The doctors talked to you too, I take it?”  
“Yeah,” I hesitated, afraid of the response to the next question I asked. “What do you want to do?”  
“Well, continuing chemo is futile at this point.” Gerard took a long pause to mull over his next words very carefully. “The clinical trials are something to consider, I guess.”  
“But what do you want,” I shot back at him. Despite my personal feelings on the matter, it ultimately wasn’t my decision. Judging by his sagging shoulders and the sadness in his eyes, I had a feeling he had said the last part for my benefit.  
He slumped further down into the pillows, too weak to stay sitting up, and scrunched up his face. I approached the starched white bed and sat beside my brother, mindful of the tubes and wires. I caressed the cheek that the feeding tube wasn’t taped to, prompting him to go on. “I want – I want this to be over, Mikey. I’m so tired. God, I’m so tired. And the pain…” His voice quivered with emotion. He bit his lip harshly to stem the flow of tears that were threatening to spill over.  
He didn’t need to finish. I had seen how this goddamn disease had ravaged his body, stole the very things he loved about himself until there was almost nothing left of the man I knew. I just wished my brain could tell my heart that this was the right decision. I slipped my hand into his for the courage to utter the words I was about to: “Alright. We’ll let them know that it’s time – that you want in home hospice, yeah?”  
Gerard nodded reluctantly. “I tried so hard to beat it, Mikey. I really did. I’m sorry I wasn’t stronger. But I’m so tired now. And I just wanna go home.”  
I wrapped Gerard up in the tightest hug I could without breaking him in two. “I wish I could make all of this go away for you. I wish it was me instead.” Gerard shook his head against my chest as if to say, ‘I’d never let that happen’. I gripped his cheeks between my hands to stop the motion. “Don’t ever apologize for this! You didn’t choose this! You’re the strongest person I know! You fought the good fight, Gee. So, let’s get you comfortable now, okay? I don’t want you to suffer anymore.”  
The hug lasted longer than any of our others ever did. Eventually I pulled back, but we still clung onto each other like a lifeline, each realizing the gravity of the decision Gerard had made and struggling to accept the finality of it. This was it for him. He was going home to die.

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It took a week to get the monolith of a hospital bed, as well as the other medical equipment and medications, delivered to the house. A nurse was going to come in to help around the clock, although I insisted on doing most everything for Gerard.  
He came home on a Thursday, arriving via ambulance. A stretcher was needed to transport him due to his frail condition. There was no way he could handle stairs anymore. The paramedics, with my help, got him transferred into the bed and settled. The bed seemed to swallow his small frame. My brother smiled sadly at me as the nurse took over, hooking him up and turning on the various machines.  
The pain was reasonably controlled by the strict schedule of medications, and without the chemotherapy Gerard seemed to regain a little of his strength and appetite. His hair had even grown to the length of the Black Parade days, and he was amused to find it was growing in as dark an ebony as he used to dye it.  
We were able to get him around the house and even out for small excursions that first month with the aid of a wheelchair. My favorite was the beach. Frank gripped his right arm tightly, and I was on his left side taking almost all his weight, as he shuffled unsteadily through the sand. We managed to set him down on a blanket. The joy lit up my brother’s face, causing the honey flecks in his hazel eyes to sparkle as he lapped up the warmth of the sun he hadn’t felt in so long. He could only tolerate being out there for an hour, but what a glorious hour it was.  
As the second month came and went, he left the bed less and less, too weak to really get around anymore. Gerard also started having trouble with his breathing, and more often than not, was connected to a cannula that delivered oxygen to his air-starved body.  
I’m still not sure which sound I loathe more – the ‘hiss’ and ‘woosh’ of the oxygen concentrator that was always by his side or the ticking of the clock. Both seemed to mock us, reminding us that my brother was going to run out of both air and time in the near future.  
In the third month, his pain was getting more difficult to control without completely knocking him out. But that was one of the reasons why he had agreed to hospice care. Gerard could titrate his dose based on his tolerance levels. Sometimes he wanted to remain awake, and other times the pain was too much to bear. He got to control so little with his illness, but he had some say in this. For that, we were grateful.  
Even his ability to reposition himself comfortably in the hospital bed was leaving him. The nurse and I would shift him frequently, tucking pillows around him to ease the pressure on various parts of his body. Gerard disliked this immensely, joking sarcastically that he felt like a sack of potatoes, but he never protested much. What he did balk at was when the catheter was placed. “For my comfort and convenience, my ass! I feel like a fucking balloon with this thing sticking out of me!”  
I couldn’t help myself -I laughed at that point. It was like the release of a pressure valve. In the face of such a grim situation, my brother’s sassy mouth painted such a vivid, ridiculous picture that I couldn’t control myself. “Glad to see my embarrassment amuses you, Mikey.”  
It was funny how, as his life was slipping away, he was connected to more and more things physically tethering him to this life. I think he would appreciate the irony of that. I should remember to tell him that later. Instead I simply said:  
“You have quite a way with words, Gee. Always have.”  
Gerard grew thoughtful at this – morose even. “I haven’t drawn in awhile. I think I’d like to try again, if that’s okay.”  
“It’s more than okay.” Any wish he had I would do my damnedest to fulfill. I gathered up all the supplies I had seen him use over the years and placed them on the bedside table within easy reach. I still haven’t looked at those drawings yet. It’s still too painful. Too fresh. But one day I will.  
Our parents, Ray, Frank, and all our other family and friends had been coming to the house to visit ever since Gerard came home, but in the fourth month their visits increased. It was as if there was an unspoken collective feeling that the end was nearing. For my part, I wasn’t so sure. Gerard had never given up easily, and I didn’t see why this would be any different.  
He couldn’t handle solid foods very much anymore which meant he had to rely heavily on the tube feeding. The sugary sweet smell sickened him. “I’d rather starve,” he’d say but still allow us to connect him to it every night.  
We still tried to satisfy any craving he had, but it was mostly limited to puddings and yogurts. “Like a fucking baby,” he sneered. When Ray brought him a milkshake, you’d think he’d won the lottery. He tried so hard to get it through the straw, but he just couldn’t. I smiled like nothing was wrong as I spooned it into his mouth.  
“Why haven’t we done this before,” he exclaimed.  
“We tried, Gee. Remember?” Although, I was pretty sure he couldn’t recall it. Between the heavy medications and the disease progression, my brother had become very forgetful. “You had a lot of sores in your mouth from the chemo, and you said it hurt because it was too cold.”  
“Oh. Well, it’s okay now.”  
From then on we got him as many milkshakes as he wanted. Sometimes he threw them up, but most of the time he was able to keep them down. Such a small victory, but it was enough to hold onto.  
No one expected Gerard to see that fifth month. He was so atrophied that my thumb and forefinger could easily encircle his bicep. His cheeks were hollowed out and his eyes sunken. The oxygen was at the highest level it could go. And yet, he fought on, even though it was a losing battle.  
Gerard told me – and everyone around him – that he loved them all the time now. Speaking was becoming more difficult for him, and most of the time it came out slurred and broken. We hung onto every word he said, never knowing what would be his last. As it turned out, the last thing he said was to me: “Thank you…for…for…taking such…good care of…me. Love you…Mikes. Always.” I could barely get the words out to say it back without completely breaking down as I gripped his hand and lovingly tucked a strand of his thin hair behind his ear.  
Three days before he died, he lost the power of speech altogether. But his oh-so-expressive eyes held more words than all the novels in all the libraries in all the world. I could read the fear, the pain, the love, the acceptance in them. Gerard had all but said it to me in the hospital - he was ready. Who was I to argue?  
The medications weren’t keeping up with his pain level as well as before. So, we gave him more. It caused him to be awake less and less, but that was no matter. His comfort was our priority.  
The day before he died, everyone could see how much he was hurting. It was etched into every line on his face. His breathing was labored and rattled in his chest. The end was near, and although the thought of it shook me to my very core and I couldn’t fathom a world without my best friend, I just wanted his suffering to stop. I whispered as much to him as I sat beside his bed. “It’s okay, Gee. You can let go now. I’ll be okay. I promise.” That was probably a lie, but deep down, as narcissistic as it sounds, I had a feeling my brother was afraid to let go, worried what would become of me. Although I would miss him terribly, I just wanted him to be perfect again, whole – and healthy.  
The night droned on solemnly as our parents, Ray, Frank, and I sat watch. No one spoke, the only sound Gerard’s slow, shallow, irregular breathing. Occasional gasps emitted from his lips as he struggled to take in deep breaths. His eyelashes fluttered, opening to just slits, taking in all the love surrounding him.  
I don’t know what possessed me to do it, but ever so carefully I removed some of the pillows from around his frail body and scooted him over towards the edge of the bed, wincing at his low whimpering. Mindful of all the tubes and wires, I climbed into bed and lay beside him. I knew where he was going I could not follow, but I didn’t want him to be alone. I didn’t want to just say I loved him. I wanted it to be the last thing he felt as he departed this world.  
Cradling his head in my hand, the pad of my thumb tracing his prominent cheek bone, I stared deep into his hazel eyes. He returned my gaze as best he could, speaking volumes. I used my other hand to stroke his arm, rub his back, and smooth back his raven locks that reached just below his ears now.  
The predominantly green color of his irises was dulling and losing focus. I kissed his forehead and whispered, “It’s almost over. You’re going to be okay again, big brother. You’re the best brother, best friend I could’ve asked for. I love you, Gee.” I repeated the last sentence over and over until one last long sigh escaped and the light faded completely from his eyes.  
Everything I had been holding inside me escaped in a flood as the dam broke wide open. Sobbing openly, I hugged Gerard’s body to me as I rocked back and forth, seeking comfort in the repetitive motion.  
I’m sure the pain I was feeling would lessen over time, that it was only temporary. And even though it seemed eternal, Gerard’s pain, his illness was temporary. I suppose one could argue that even his life was temporary, but the mark he left upon the world – upon me – was permanent.  
I hoped, I prayed with every ounce of my soul that he knew how much I adored him, looked up to him…loved him. I hoped, I prayed that through all the uncertainties of his illness, that he knew I was the one constant. That I would be there through it all. I was permanent.

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't a song fic per se, but I figured I would include the lyrics of the song that inspired the fic:
> 
> Is this the moment where I look you in the eye?  
Forgive my broken promise that you'll never see me cry  
And everything, it will surely change even if I tell you I won't go away today  
Will you think that you're all alone  
When no one's there to hold your hand?  
And all you know seems so far away and everything is temporary rest your head  
I'm permanent
> 
> I know he's living in hell every single day  
And so I ask oh god is there some way for me to take his place  
And when they say it's all touch and go I wish I could make it go away  
But still you say  
Will you think that you're all alone when no one's there to hold your hand?  
When all you know seems so far away and everything is temporary, rest your head  
I'm permanent  
I'm permanent
> 
> Is this the moment where I look you in the eye?  
Forgive my promise that you'll never see me cry
> 
> by David Cook


End file.
